The place I go when she's gone.
The Station - the place I go when she's gone - with an IPA, I was watching the rain drip off the roof - gentle streams, pseudorandom - and thinking that the only time I come close to that - that uninhibited, natural, plugged-into-quantum-fluctuational, brazen existential - is when I am playing guitar, flat picking around chords. So, tonight I sat and played my old six string, while the evening slipped into night, and the dog napped in the hall, and I sang like the whole world was listening, and paradoxically, like I was all alone.